Random Geekery:Horror, Twilight, vampire overkill and Why I defend the sparklepire

Sooo... Yeah. I like Twilight. The movie. I've read the book. That's a separate issue, which I will address.

I've been into vampires since 1979, when I was 6. Why? Frank Langella, because well: OMG, HAWT. Now, I should mention that horror is practically a part of my DNA. My mom is a horror fangirl, old school. We're talking Hitchcock, James Whale, SERIOUS Vincent Price/Hammer horror kinda stuff. Also, she both read and saw The Exorcist while preggers with me. (I've always claimed this explains a lot about me, if you buy into the in utero learning thing.) I was watching Claude Rains as The Invisible Man before I could write my own name. So, the seminal event, 1979 Dracula, (which, btw, TOTALLY FUCKS UP THE NARRATIVE. WTF, W.D. RICHTER!?!) It was at the drive in, my mom and her boyfriend up front, me and his daughter in the back. The first feature on a double bill happened to be Andy Warhol's Frankenstein, (aka Flesh For Frankenstein, 1973.Rated X, btw.) This, scarred me for life. My mom thought we were asleep. I wasn't. Nope. Not at all. (No, I really don't want to talk about it. No, really.)

If you've never seen Frank Langella as Dracula, DO IT NOW. Even my little 6 y.o. brain went, ZOMG!  He's all dark and smooth, with that whiskey-chocolate voice. *sigh*

I've been reading and watching vampires ever since. Oh, I read Bram Stoker's original Dracula in the movie tie-in format when I was 6. It came with creeeeepy pics of the underground tomb where, "Mina," (yeah, I know, s'posed to be Lucy, and in this flick, Mina is somehow Van Helsing's daughter. Don't ask,) is all undead-corpsified and looking not at all unlike a really serious Goth.)

I started reading Anne Rice when I was 12, due to my mad crush on Sting, (Moon over Bourbon St., Dream of the Blue Turtles. Google it.) Salem's Lot kept me awake like a motherfucker and had me digging out my rosary from my 1st communion, (I'll say this for Stephen King, that man has caused me more sleepless nights from sheer terror than just about any horror writer I can think of.)  The lush prose and the way she paints the scenery led me through the entire Vampire Chronicles, including the non-Lestat books, and The Mayfair Witches, Rameses the Damned and...oh, you get the picture. Tanith Lee's Personal Darkness, not exactly a fave, but still noteworthy. The Lost Boys, (be still my fluttery 14 y.o. heart, Keifer Sutherland AND Jason Patric, a girl could swoon. No, not the Coreys. Never.) My consumption of vampire fiction ebbed and flowed. The Hunger, by Whitley Streiber, (loved the movie, the book...meh, it's ok. It lacked...verve.)

I've always see-sawed between heavy lit and the fantasy/horror genres as a reader, same with films. Always drawn to the darkness, because that's where the secrets are. Always drawn to that which is, "Other." (Hey, when you're a shy, unpopular kid, losing yourself in a book can save your life. They can take you places where, "Other," is the norm.)

Now, given my fondness for vampires, Buffy, (movie, series, books, comics,) was a natural fit. While the film was fun, the series really did help me work through my post-adolescent angst. Yes, HIGH SCHOOL IS HELL. No, really. It also introduced the idea of a, "neutered," vamp. Angel, (who I never really found that damn fabulous, honestly,) is the precursor to Edward Cullen. To my mind, Spike was always a helluva lot more interesting. I don't mind angst, but I need a little snark to liven things up.

My favorite vamps in print, during the 90's, was Christopher Golden's Shadow Saga, (soon to be reprinted, *squee* so, check it out.) It was world-building and a mythos that challenged the expectation of good and evil. I'm always down for that. "Bram Stoker's Dracula," and, "Blade," were my films of choice, and I'd be hard-pressed to choose between Gary Oldman's fully-fledged performance and the abyssinian grace of Frank Langella. (Won't, actually.)

Which brings me, at last, to these 21st century vamps. Oh...dear. I can live with the Southern Vamps, I love True Blood, as another layer of mythos. My sticking point, is the sparklepires. I will absolutely applaud Stephenie Meyer's ability to make not-sex as sexy as humanly possible. However, I've only read the first book, because...I don't really see a mythos. I need substance to my vamps. Also, better prose. I don't even have a problem w the sparkling, per se. (Go back to Rice, by QOTD, they're all glowy and buffed marble, with the diamond-shiny nails, hair and eyes. Get over the sparkle.) I have a problem with the not-entertainingly narcissistic narrative, and the omg-clingy-needy-addicted vibes between Edward and Bella. Also, HELLO: STALKER. Not good for young women to find that shit romantic. No, SERIOUSLY. You don't want your daughter, little sister, or...mom, to think that a guy creeping in her bedroom to watch her sleep is...sweet. EWWW.

Do I like the movie? Yeah, it's way less suck than the novel. Plus, Rob Pattinson is totally dreamy. *facepalm* Yeah, I said it. Deal with it.  I like Kristen Stewart. The soundtrack's pretty awesome, and you know, a little unresolved sexual tension will do ya good, sometimes. I read The Vampire Diaries when I was in HIGH SCHOOL, I don't need to watch the show. I just don't. I'd like to see some serious adult vamps. Kim Newman's Anno Dracula would make a FANTASTIC film, for example. So would the Shadow Saga. Maybe it's time adults took back the Vampires. We need to stop further marginalizing horror and fantasy. I don't mind if the vamps sparkle, but I'd rather venture into the dark. That's where the secrets are.  I'm hoping that all these girls and women will realize that there are better tales to dive into, better books, better films. Women control an awful lot of the disposable income in this country. Imagine what would happen if they all said, "Wow, the sparklepires were fun, but...I really need something with a little more...BITE." We might actually get it.

Tripping the time fantastic: How I learned to love Doctor Who.

(Partial Credit goes to @ItsMikeandIke, for lively conversation, also @ButMadNNW. Most importantly, my two favorite Whovians: @MelindaKitty and @Ree923. Go to twitter: Learn it, live it, love it.)
Disclaimer: I am a rabid New Who fangirl. This is important to know. I will quote, reference and possibly drool over New Who episodes at the drop of a hat. Really. No, REALLY REALLY.
Why? Read on, my friends...


My first recollection of Doctor Who: c. 1970's airing episodes with the fourth Doctor, (Tom Baker.) I've convinced myself that it was on PBS, but Wikipedia disputes the timeline, (Strangely, this seems appropriate.)
This is how I learned to hate Doctor Who: Being made to stay awake long past my bedtime and forced to watch Monty Python and Doctor Who. These shows are inextricably linked together in my memory. I was about 4 years old. My father, (Aussie ex-pat,) made me watch these shows. While I liked Monty Python, because it was quite silly, Doctor Who earned my derision for decades. It was too cheaply produced, too strange and to me, the Daleks were frightening merely for the sound of their voices. Fingernails on chalkboard to my ears. It is however, quite possible that my parents' subsequent divorce and the attendant miserable fatherless childhood were also negatively associated with the Doctor.


Poor Doctor.


Flash-forward to 1996.
Paul McGann. That hair was ridiculous. I'm pretty sure I only saw part of the movie because of... Baseball? Yeah, I'm pretty sure it was baseball. Fox screwed the pooch on that one.


Onward to 2005...ish.
I'm pretty sure I had the flu, or pneumonia, or some other vicious, nasty bug at the time. Channel surfing with a 103 degree fever when you're on the verge of a NyQuil coma can lead to strange and unusual experiences.
This was one of them.
The first episode of New Doctor Who, that I ever encountered was... The Doctor Dances.
I was immediately sucked in by Christopher Eccleston. (Brief digression: I've watched everything I could find him in since I saw Shallow Grave. Remarkable stillness and that voice... Shurrup.)


So, I caught the tail end of a BBC America Mini Marathon in a state of near-delirium and those two episodes changed my life.
Really.


Eventually, I caught a few more episodes on Sci-Fi (now SyFy because someone in marketing is an idiot, but really good at selling ideas,) and grew to love David Tennant's Doctor as well. Fact: I did not see the first 3 series in contiguous form until BBCA started re-airing.


Viewed as a whole, the newest incarnation of what was once merely a cheesy and ridiculous pop culture artifact, is far better than most American attempts at science fiction on television. We tend to focus on science fiction as background noise to: action, horror, romance, drama. Doctor Who is far more a series with science fiction as metaphor. Although conceived as a way to impart a bit of science and history to children, back in the 60's, this iteration is far more about holding a mirror up to society. A reflection of human faults, heroism and the choices we make. The science and history are still there, too.


I'm now a few sloppy paragraphs into what should be an epic dissection/love letter to Doctor Who, and I'm not really covering either point. (Bad writer, bad. *smacks with rolled-up newspaper* *whimper, cringe*)


Why, precisely, did I learn to love the Doctor?


I'm getting there.


My point, is that there are many ways of looking at the Doctor. Some people like the romantic tension with his companions, some like the monsters, some like the continuity of a childhood favorite.


Me, I love it all. I love that we can go from 51st century earth, to Volcano Day on Pompeii. I love that the Doctor can have dinner with a Slitheen in Cardiff, or snog Madame Du Pompadour. I love that the lines of race and gender and sexuality begin to disappear. (Although I draw the line at Gods Love and Monsters with the implied fellatio by a head in a block of paving. That's just icky.)
I love the stoicism/bemusement of the 9th Doctor, the childlike glee/ferocity/sadness of the 10th, and while I'm still undecided about the 11th Doctor, I'm sure I'll watch anyway.


There's heart in this show, there's a moral center and it's quite funny.


It's also terrifying.
Dalek, Blink, Silence in the Library, and of course, the creepy image of a small boy with a gas mask-head asking, "Are you my mummy?" All of which have imprinted indelibly on my memory.


Then again, there are also utterly brilliant moments of absurdity: " You're my favourite, you are, you are the best! Do you know why? 'Cause you're so THICK. You're Mister Thick Thick Thickity Thick Face from Thicktown, Thickania.
And so's your dad."

You kinda can't beat that. 

Especially in context. 

Go watch. 

Really. 

I'm also pretty sure I've never seen that much double-entendre packed into the word, "Dance," as in, "The Doctor Dances," episode. The varying pronunciations and inflections are a choreography unto themselves. 

I've rarely found television that carries its own mythos, let alone survives more than 40 years of near-continuous production, the way that Doctor Who does. It's always been something of a magnet for people who are idealists and dreamers, artists and activists, humanitarians and humanists. I suspect it will continue to draw that sort of viewer for years to come. There are endless controversies over canon and accuracy, the interpretation of each regeneration...

The Doctor may not have a name, but he is a part of our collective consciousness and culture. 

Yes,  "The angels have the phone box." Yes we're, "All sonic-ed up."  Yes, "Bananas are good."

As philosophies go, we could all do worse than asking, " What would the Doctor Do?"

(WWTDD)

This is merely a window into how, when and why I learned to love the Doctor. 

Go get your own. 

Monday: Culture, Pop

As the Goddess of Eclectica, I reserve the right to cross genres, mix metaphors and make playlists that confuse the hell out of the listener until they've absorbed the whole. You wanna make somethin' of it? No? I didn't think so. I've got high-low tastes in a stratified, cliqued-up world. Clive Barker sits cheek by jowl with The Bard in my pantheon of literary greats, John Mayer and Eric Clapton nestle alongside Jimi Hendrix and Robert Cray. My thought for the day is this: why do we get stuck in ruts like we never left high school?

I don't actually have an answer, other than: Most people's intellectual and emotional development seem to freeze around sophomore year, as far as I'm concerned. (I didn't say I wasn't a snob. I despise intellectual laziness and apathy. Get over it and read a book, m'kay?)

Most of the people I love, are incredibly passionate consumers of art and information. The ones I really, really treasure have no filter that says, "I can't like this, it's uncool." When we stop being sheep engaging in reflexive snobbery, I think we'll be a lot happier. We'll also get better entertainment and culture. Mix it up friends, read silly things, read high art, (for fuck's sake: READ, will ya?) Listen to pop and classical and rock 'n' roll. Share your tastes with your friends and don't worry if they think something's a little kitschy. Maybe they'll find something they've never heard of and love. Maybe they'll share something you never knew existed. Cultural show and tell, it's about freakin' time. It's the 21st century, the old rules don't apply. Start acting like it. After all, you're not in high school anymore.